Don't Get Mad, Get Even
by bethanyyerinn
Summary: Sherlock is unwilling to make their relationship public, even after more than a year. John buys a product that can turn him temporarily invisible and uses it to get Sherlock back for being a prick. Fluff, smut, ridiculousness. Johnlock. Established Mystrade. (Probably takes place before the Fall)
1. Getting Together

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**This is basically an utterly ridiculous tale that involves public sex, witchcraft, and other wholesome things. Don't judge me, I just wanted to write something crackish. Hope you enjoy though!**

* * *

The first time John and Sherlock slept together, it was sudden. Sherlock came into John's room while he was reading with a fire in his eyes—please keep in mind that _Sherlock_ started it—and John was confused as hell.

Well, for a second, he was angry, because again Sherlock didn't knock. But he saw that _look_ in his eyes pretty quickly, and he knew that look. He'd gotten it enough times before from enough women.

"Erm, Sherlock?" John asked tentatively.

Sherlock wordlessly climbed into the bed, on top of John.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" John asked, but his voice had gone hoarse and it didn't sound as assertive as he intended.

Sherlock hovered over John for a long moment before saying, "When you aren't in the room, I can't think."

John's brow went up. "I didn't think you were capable of not thinking."

"I didn't either, trust me, but now it's different."

John was quiet for a moment. "So you thought climbing on top of me would fix that?"

"If you'd let me finish speaking, you wouldn't have to ask so many questions," Sherlock told him, so John sighed, but didn't say anything either. "When you aren't around, I can't think. But when you are around, I can't think either."

"So you're just never thinking then."

Sherlock scowled so furiously that John actually didn't say anything. "John, it's very difficult for me to speak to you about my… my, you know. Emotions. If you could stop teasing me for them, it would be helpful."

He almost wanted to mention that Sherlock wouldn't hesitate to make fun of John's feelings, but decided not to be an arse and just let Sherlock speak, as he really seemed to be struggling.

"Alright, continue," John prompted.

Sherlock nodded. "I don't think I could properly explain to you the way my mind works, not in a way that you would understand. But I'd say that the brain of the average person in comparison to mine is about the same as a mouse in comparison to the average person. And don't make that face, it's not supposed to be an insult, it's just to make you understand how much more my mind does in every moment than yours. I can think a hundred things, a thousand things, all at the same time, and remember every thought to reference later. So when I say I can't think when you're around, but I can't think when you are either, I don't mean I can't think at all, I mean that my mind becomes average. I can only solve one problem at once… because the rest of my brain is focusing on you. When you aren't there, I wonder what you're doing, if you're safe. When you are, I watch you. The way you twitch your foot when you're upset with me, the way you lick your lips when you're thinking too much."

John couldn't believe this was actually happening. He'd been secretly wanting Sherlock for ages—longer than he even wanted to admit to himself—but he ignored it, because he knew it'd never go anywhere.

But now Sherlock was saying all this.

He continued, "So I've begun an experiment," Sherlock continued. "Likely, you haven't noticed. But I knew I had to find out a way to stop being utterly distracted by you. Once I considered drugs, but decided I can't afford to fall into that habit again, so I dismissed that idea. I tried many things that involved a separation from you, but it only made things worse. The only other option was to get closer. I'd sit nearer when you were in the front room, and inexplicably, I'd think better afterwards, but then after a while, I'd just need to get closer again. I've never gotten close enough. And so I realised what must happen. You and I must fornicate. It's the only way I'll find peace. I've noticed your physical reaction when I get near you, and I know you want it."

He stopped, like John was supposed to say something, but what was he supposed to say to that? He was appalled that he was being used as some sort of experiment, and he could already feel blood rushing south at the thought of it. He was uncomfortable with Sherlock's phrasing and wanted to shut him up with his mouth on those pompous lips. Or, even better, he wanted to make him unable to speak coherent words any longer by making the sentences come out as moans. Oh, yes, that was _exactly_ what he wanted.

"I can see that you want it right this moment," Sherlock added.

John was still considering words that might fit into this situation, but still none were coming to mind. He ought to tell Sherlock that you couldn't just sleep with someone so you could think straight. He needed to tell Sherlock that if he wanted to sleep with anyone ever, he should never say the word 'fornicate' again. He was gonna tell Sherlock that he was an arsehole, and that he needed to get the hell out of this bed right now.

And then he lunged upward and pressed his lips to Sherlock's, and he had to try hard to keep from laughing at the surprised noise Sherlock made.

But he didn't laugh. And Sherlock didn't stop him. And it wasn't long before their clothes were lost to the floor and John couldn't believe that this was actually happening, but Sherlock around him felt so good that he didn't care. Sherlock was amazingly responsive, moaning and cursing in a way that John never would have expected.

And when they were finished, Sherlock promptly grabbed his clothes and walked out. John felt a little bit of a sinking feeling, but decided to ignore it. Yeah, he'd wanted Sherlock. Now he'd had him. The mystery of it was gone. Sure, it was pretty much the best sex he'd ever had, but he'd get over it.

He stared at the ceiling.

Weirdest night ever.

* * *

But that wasn't the last time. In fact, it was the _next_ _day_, and John was in his bed again, sleeping this time, when Sherlock came back.

"I was able to think all day," he said, which was the sentence that woke John up, with Sherlock standing over him in the dark, looking particularly creepy in the minimal light coming in from between the blinds. "I solved three crimes just in the past two hours."

"Am I supposed to congratulate you?" asked John exasperatedly, rubbing his eyes. "Get the hell out."

"It was because of our coitus," Sherlock added.

"Jesus, Sherlock, both 'fornicate' and 'coitus' are forbidden terms in this flat from now on."

"That's what it's called."

"Sure, okay, but either way, it's really not sexy to say, so just quit it."

Sherlock actually seemed to be considering it. "Then what am I supposed to call it?"

"Fucking."

"So you would like me to say that I was able to concentrate today because I fucked you last night."

John was surprised at the heat that filled his abdomen when Sherlock said that word. Sherlock saw it, of course, and smirked.

"I guess you _would_ like me to say that. Good, then you're ready to do it again."

"Again?" asked John weakly, but still his cock already seemed interested in the idea.

"I told you, I was able to think all day. But as of three minutes ago, that stopped, because I was recalling our 'fucking' and it made this happen."

He gestured down to his trousers, where there was a clear bulge. John's mouth was dry, looking at the reaction just thinking about John had given Sherlock—and the fact that he had said fuck again, which was amazingly attractive in that silky baritone of his.

He then said, "It's quite a hassle to try to think with this going on, so I'm going to need us to 'fuck' again."

The night before, John was too dazed to have any clue what to say. This time, however, he was able to think a little more.

"You _need_ it, do you?" asked John dryly. "Well I'm sleeping right now." He flopped over so he was facing away from Sherlock.

Sherlock promptly crawled into bed behind him, so they were basically spooning. "_John_," Sherlock whined. "My mind is functioning on near-Anderson levels of stupidity right now. I've got only one thing on my mind and I can't do anything else until you fuck me again."

John was nearly possible that requiring Sherlock to refer to it as 'fucking' was the best thing he ever did.

And he couldn't help but be flattered that Sherlock was _only_ thinking about him.

And there was the fact that Sherlock's dick was pressed against John's arse right now, which made it really hard to think.

"Then try thinking like us normal people for a bit," John said, but it didn't sound nearly as scathing as he'd wanted it to. "Sometimes we get horny and can't think. It happens. You go wank yourself and get on with your life."

"But I don't _want_ to do that," Sherlock said. "There's no point unless it's you."

John blinked and turned his head to look at Sherlock—and was caught a little off guard by how close those intense eyes were to his own, so it was a long moment before he said, "Really?"

"Yes, of course 'really'," Sherlock said in a patronising manner, which made John turn around again so he could roll his eyes. "Do you imagine I have a great deal of libido? No, not normally. I've never once touched myself, John. But with you," he added, and John felt Sherlock push even closer as he wrapped his arm around John's front and put his lips to John's ear, "You feel what you do to me," he said, just barely grinding up against John's backside. "I _need_ you."

John stubbornly grit his teeth. Sherlock was utterly manipulating him, that's what he was doing. Sherlock was capable, when he was desperate, to say whatever you want to hear to get what he pleased.

"_John_," Sherlock said again, managing to make it sound somewhere between a complaint and a moan as he slid his hand down John's abdomen, so his fingers were just under the elastic of his pyjama trousers, "I know you want me."

Okay, so Sherlock was using him. But really, what did that matter? Yeah, of course he wanted him.

John grunted in irritation and flipped over on top of Sherlock. "I fucking hate you."

"As long as there's fucking involved."

* * *

It quickly became a habit. Sherlock was getting more done than he ever did during the day, but every night he'd climb into John's bed, and they'd sleep together. Or, as Sherlock now had to call it, 'fuck'. Which was much more accurate a term, actually, because there was nothing restful about it. It was carnal and desperate, not careful or loving.

The first week, John still protested each time Sherlock arrived, but after eight or so times, John was lying awake, waiting for Sherlock's appearance in his room, and he yanked the taller man down onto the bed himself.

For a month, the moment they finished, Sherlock would leave, and neither of them would bring it up during the day, or even act different at all, until the evening when Sherlock needed to think again.

Then one night, John was still trying to catch his breath, but he knew Sherlock would leave any second now… but Sherlock didn't move. He lay on the bed next to John, naked and staring at the ceiling.

John turned onto his side to look at Sherlock. "Quit looking at me like that," Sherlock snapped.

"Like what?" asked John amusedly, not able to get irritated because of his post-orgasm high.

"With _fondness_."

John actually smiled. "Oh, come on, you know I'm fond of you. We're mates."

"As I still have residual semen in my mouth from swallowing your orgasm, I'm not sure that's the correct term any longer."

"Okay, so now we can't be friends anymore?"

Sherlock looked over to him. "We _are_ friends, John. But this is just sex. I'm still married to my work, same as before. I'm doing this _for_ my work, if anything."

John wanted to have hurt feelings. To be mad and kick Sherlock out and never let him into his bed again. But really, isn't this what he should've expected? And it's not like John was looking for a relationship out of this either. He just liked the sex.

So instead he said, "Yeah, I know."

"Just as long as that's clear," Sherlock said.

And then he proceeded to turn on his side, hugging onto his knees, and shut his eyes, automatically asleep like he'd flipped a switch in his brain. John looked at him in confusion for a moment, but then decided not to question it.

So that was the night that Sherlock started sleeping in John's bed each night after their sex.

It was three weeks after that when Sherlock wanted midday sex. All their sex before then had been in John's room.

This time though, John was just putting the kettle on to boil, and he turned around and Sherlock was right there behind him.

"What the hell—what, right _now_?" he asked exasperatedly, knowing the moment he saw the _look_ Sherlock was giving him what he wanted.

"Yes, now," Sherlock said, but before John could mention it'd only been eleven hours since the last time, or say anything at all, Sherlock kissed him hard, pressing him against the wall, and John didn't feel the need to talk anymore.

So that was when they started having it anywhere in the flat, any time of the day, as long as Sherlock initiated it.

Two weeks after that was the first time they switched roles, so Sherlock was the one inside John.

A month after _that_ was the first time John initiated it instead of Sherlock.

So it'd been six months since this whole thing started. They didn't have sex every day anymore—their horny adolescent stage eventually died out—but they still had it pretty frequently. And now their entire dynamic was different.

They always slept in the same bed now, even if they didn't have sex first. They teased each other over text sometimes, and they flirted—well, in the way Sherlock was _capable_ of flirting, that was.

Five months into the whole thing was the first time John had a really bad day at work and Sherlock suggested sex not to help himself think, but to cheer John up.

A week after that was when Sherlock suddenly grabbed John's hand in the cab.

John looked over to him in surprise, but before he could ask, Sherlock said, "I told you, being physically close to you makes me think better."

Three days after that was when Sherlock kissed John for the first time without it leading to fucking. Just a random kiss when John came home from work.

"Couldn't think?" asked John, his voice annoyingly quiet, like a nervous teenager.

"Precisely," Sherlock replied, walking away.

But the big problem with all this was that they were so close to just being in a relationship that John was having trouble keeping in mind that Sherlock was still married to his work. John had stopped going on dates, because he felt like he was dating Sherlock. And, most importantly (and unfortunately) was that John's feelings weren't just lust anymore and he knew it. And he was nearly convinced that Sherlock really liked him as well, but was just afraid to admit it to himself.

It was a recipe for disaster.

* * *

It was amazing how quickly Sherlock turned John into a spluttering mess. One minute, John had been on his laptop, working on his blog. Then Sherlock was right behind him, his lips against his ear. "How I'm expected to get a thing done in a world where you exist, I just don't know."

John smirked. "Then don't get anything done," he said.

Sherlock turned the chair around. "Not an option. But I suppose I can assuage my urgings." Sherlock leaned into to kiss him, but then John stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"Wait a moment," John said.

"Yes?" asked Sherlock with an eyebrow up.

"Is that really all I am to you? Just the way you burn off your sex drive?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and backed away, sitting in his chair. "John, don't do this. Don't make this complicated. You know the arrangement. We fuck when we feel the need, and otherwise things stay the same."

"Yeah, you're right, that _was_ the arrangement. But _now_ we hold hands almost constantly as long as we're sure nobody's watching and greet each other with kisses and send flirty text messages and cuddle while we're sleeping… Sherlock, this isn't just meaningless sex and you know it. We might as well be in a committed relationship at this point."

"But we aren't," Sherlock said.

"You sure about that? Because I'm not sure anymore."

"John, you know very well that I'm m—"

"Yeah, married to your work, I know. I'm really starting to think you're just telling yourself that because you're uncomfortable with the fact that you actually like me."

"That's utterly ridiculous," he scoffed. "Maybe _you've_ let your feelings get away with you, but I certainly haven't. This is still just sex to me."

John set his jaw in irritation. "Yeah, sure, maybe you're right. Maybe I've lost track of my emotions. But don't tell me this is just sex to you, because it's obviously not. You initiated everything that's past sex—the hand holding, the cheek kissing, the texting. I never once crossed a boundary, not until you'd crossed it first. You're the one that turned this into a relationship, not me."

"Well I didn't realise you would take it all incorrectly. I'll be careful not to overestimate your intelligence again."

John glared at him. "You're unbelievable," he snarled, getting up and grabbing his jacket. "You know how you feel, Sherlock, you're just not enough of a man to admit it. Well, until then, have fun with your right hand, because I'm done."

John had slammed the door and was halfway down the stairs when Sherlock was following him. "Wait, _done_?"

"Yes, done. This is stupid. Either you like me and refuse to see it or you never liked me and you're just using me. I didn't mind being used in the beginning, but you're in too deep now, Sherlock. There's nobody on the planet that wouldn't assume you liked them if you acted the way you have been for the past few months. So figure out how you feel, Sherlock."

John kept going down the steps and stepped out into the rain. Sherlock was still following him.

"So, what, if I say I feel nothing for you, then we're over?"

"I thought you said there was never anything here. What's to end?" said John coldly. He started stomping away towards who knows where.

"John!" Sherlock called, splashing behind him. "Please, just stop. Can we talk about this?"

John turned on him. "There's nothing to talk about. Either you like me or you don't. It's that simple."

Sherlock looked at John silently, a petulant look on his face, his hair officially sopping down into his eyes with the downpour. John kept staring him down.

Sherlock sighed. "John, don't be an idiot," he said, and yes, this was the part where Sherlock was going to say he could never like John. Maybe John shouldn't have asked at all. Well, that's what he thought was going to happen until Sherlock continued, "Of course I like you." John blinked at him, feeling like he might have heard wrong. But Sherlock continued, "But I'm not… I'm not ready for a commitment like that. I don't _want_ to like you… I've just… well, I didn't mean for this," he finished lamely.

After a moment, John actually laughed. "Sherlock, you're not ready for the commitment? We're already doing everything a couple does, just without mentioning our emotions."

"And that's the hard part," Sherlock sighed.

"It's not," said John. "Really, it's not. Nothing has to change. I just wanted you to admit it."

"So does that mean you'll come back inside and fuck me?" asked Sherlock desperately.

"That depends. Did you only say you liked me so I'd go back in and fuck you?"

Sherlock glared. "You know I didn't, John."

John just barely smiled. "Yeah, okay, I guess I do. I just wanted you to say it again." Before Sherlock could say anything, John added, "We're all wet now. I suppose we better get this clothing off before we catch cold."

Sherlock smirked. "That's the most intelligent thing you've said all day."

* * *

And so, after that day, John and Sherlock were in something that resembled a relationship. Sherlock, when he was in a very good mood, might say something sweet. John was allowed to say how he felt all he wanted and Sherlock wouldn't look disgusted. In fact, over time, he started to look flattered.

And things were good. Really good.

That is, until John suggested becoming public…


	2. Getting Magic

John couldn't actually tell you how he ended up in that Hoodoo shop. In fact, he couldn't even tell you where in London he was. He and Sherlock had gotten into a bit of a domestic (again) and John just had to get out of there.

This time, it was because John had suggested that they go out on an actual date.

"A date? As in _publically_?"

"Yes, publically," said John with an eye roll.

"No," Sherlock said flat-out.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want anyone to know about us!"

"Why not?" John repeated.

"Why would I want them to know? I'd never hear the end of it!"

"Sherlock, this whole thing has been going on for more than a year. Isn't it about time to—"

"_No_."

"Why are you so against this?"

"I just don't want anyone to know!" Sherlock exclaimed, letting himself get truly angry for the first time in a long time.

"What, are you ashamed of me?"

"John, that's ridiculous, we're together all the time."

"Then what is it? That I'm a man?"

"No!"

"Mycroft and Greg are quite happy with their public relationship," John said.

Well, if Mycroft was even capable of happiness. Which was definitely in question. But he didn't mention that.

"Since I always strive to be like _Mycroft_," scoffed Sherlock before saying, "I just don't know why anyone needs to know."

"I only said I wanted to go on a date! We don't need to proclaim it to the skies!"

"Well I don't want to!"

John glared. "Fine then."

And he was out the door. Sherlock didn't follow him—at least not before John got in a cab.

"Where to?" asked the man.

"Anywhere but here."

John didn't want to tell him any place he could think of, because then if Sherlock wanted to find him, he'd be able to figure out eventually where John went. If the driver just took him somewhere random, then Sherlock couldn't guess where John had gone.

The man looked confused and put-off simultaneously at the request.

"I'll pay you an extra twenty if you just take me somewhere," John added.

The man, after a moment of thought, shrugged and started to drive. John turned and still didn't see Sherlock, so he shut his eyes and let the man drive.

When he opened them again an immeasurable amount of time later, he was in an area he didn't recognise. Perfect.

"Thanks mate," said John, paying forty extra instead of twenty. He got out and looked around.

Wow. He was definitely in a part of town he'd never been to. The place wasn't very busy and had a lot of small, strange looking shops. One caught his eye that had a skeleton in the window.

He walked inside and there was a plump black woman that greeted him. When she spoke, she had an American Southern accent.

"What brings you to Mama Isadora?" John was about to tell her why he was in this side of town, just because he felt like talking for some reason, but then she held up a hand to keep John from speaking and said, "Wait. You've gotten into a fight with your girlf—no, boyfriend."

He thought for a half a moment that maybe she was another genius in his life, but then had a feeling that wasn't it. John took the moment to look around, and a look was enough to tell him he'd landed in a magic shop. He hadn't checked the name when he was still outside, but behind the woman, there was a sign that said, "HOODOO".

He'd somehow ended up in a black magic shop accidentally. He didn't really believe in magic, but he still had a weird feeling anyhow.

"That was a good guess," said John.

"Mama don't ever guess," she said. "And Mama know exactly what you need," she added, scurrying back into the store and coming back with a plain brown bottle with some kind of liquid in it.

"Unless this is whiskey, I don't think I need any."

She smiled. "No, honey, I promise you, you need some of this. Just drink a little and you'll see."

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna drink something a strange woman gives me, okay."

She raised an eyebrow. "Fine, _I'll_ drink it and show you."

She held the bottle to her lips and took a sip.

A long minute passed before… No way.

Because a moment later, Mama Isadora disappeared right before John's eyes.

He looked around, like she might have moved while he was blinking.

"Right here, honey," she said, her voice still in the same spot.

"No way. It's a trick."

"It aint no trick," said Mama Isadora. "This real Hoodoo, taught to me by my mama, taught to her by her mama, way back for centuries."

John wanted to be skeptical, but it was happening right now in front of him. He almost wanted to lean forward and see if he could feel her there, but thought that would be weird.

"Sure, go ahead, boy," she said, as if he'd asked something aloud.

But instead of asking how she knew, he held an arm out. He just barely heard her take a step, and then her hand gently took John's wrist and turned over his hand, and a finger ran over his palm. He imagined that if he could see her, she would be leaning over his hand, squinting her eyes at it.

"He loves you, you know," she said, her voice more subdued.

"What, you know palm reading? Isn't that gypsies?"

"Mama Isadora know all kinds of magic, honey. My friend Missouri taught me when I was in Kansas. But in this case, no, I'm not reading your palm. People just like when I pretend I'm seein' it in your palm."

"Then where are you seeing it?" John asked, wishing he could say he was just playing along, but now the subject had moved to Sherlock and it didn't feel like a joke anymore.

"I just see things, honey. Mama knows lots of things."

"And you know he loves me… how, exactly?"

"I can't tell you how I know, I just do. And I know he loves you, he's just too afraid to say it. And… he's calling his brother to ask if he knows where you are."

John blinked once. Twice. Okay, she'd officially made a believer of him. There was no way for her to know these things unless she was psychic or something. Not to mention she was still invisible.

"So why do I need to be invisible?" he asked.

He heard her chuckle, and then a moment later, she was there again, another bottle to her lips, this one clear. She was grinning.

"You trust Mama now?" she asked.

"Maybe I've gone mental, but yeah, I suppose I do."

"Good. Then just trust me. You'll know when you need it. And if by tomorrow you haven't, come on back and Mama'll give you a full refund."

"Really?"

"Sure will."

He nodded and took the two bottles that she was holding out. "What will being invisible do?"

"Even I aint sure of that yet. But I suspect it'll be funny for you, and will knock some sense into Sherlock."

John couldn't even be surprised that she knew the name, not now. Though it pretty much proved she wasn't just a master of deduction like Sherlock, seeing as there's no way she could guess a name—especially a name like _Sherlock_—by looking at John. "How much?"

"Usually it's twenty quid… but I know you've only got ten on you, so that'll be enough."

John grinned and pulled out his one ten pound note, which was indeed the only cash he had on him. "Thank you," he said.

"Oh, don't thank me yet. Wait 'til that mixture pays off. Just remember, brown one makes you invisible, the clear one makes you visible again. But the invisibility only lasts for an hour if you never take the antidote, so be careful."

"I'll keep it in mind. Thanks again."

"No problem, honey. Come back whenever you want, John Watson."

He turned. "You sure you haven't just seen me in the papers or something?"

She smiled. "Your first pet was a dog named Spot."

John smirked. "You're good."

"I'm the best," she replied. "And don't forget it, boy. Oh, and Sherlock's about to text you. Keep an open mind."

John pulled his eyebrows together and got out his phone, and even as he was pulling it out, it vibrated in his hand.

_I apologise for being unreasonable. Come home so we can discuss this. – SH_

John rolled his eyes, and Mama Isadora said, "Open mind, John."

He sighed.

_You only texted me because you can't figure out where I am and Mycroft doesn't know. – JH_

_Admittedly. So come back. Please. – SH_

"He said please," Mama said, and John glanced over to make sure she was still way across the store.

"That's a little creepy, you know," John said.

"I'm just tryin' to help a boy out."

"Why're you trying to help Sherlock anyway?"

"Because I sympathise with being afraid of love. Especially when he's in love with you. He doesn't think he deserves you."

"There's no way he thinks that," John said.

"Have I lied to you yet?" she asked.

He held up the bottles. "I'll let you know tomorrow."

She grinned. "Alright, honey."

John went outside and only had to wait two minutes for a cab to come by for him to hail. He still didn't know where he was, but when he asked to go to central London, the woman mentioned conversationally that he was a long way out.

He wasn't planning on going back to the flat yet at first, but after Sherlock's text and Mama Isadora's encouragement, he decided to go back.

He again didn't pay attention to where he was going or how long it took, but Sherlock texted him a few more times while he was in the cab.

_I don't like not knowing where you are. – SH_

_John, please contact me. – SH_

_I suppose I can only hope you weren't abducted by a Chinese crime syndicate or killed in a car accident. – SH_

John _could've_ texted him back, but he was still a little frustrated with him, so he didn't mind making the insufferable man wait.

He got back and Sherlock was playing the violin. He turned. "Would it have killed you to respond?"

"Quite possibly," John replied.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away.

"Hey, you said you wanted to talk about it," John said. "I'm here. Talk."

"Oh, yes," Sherlock said, setting down his violin. "Brother dear texted me—"

"Or you texted him about where I was."

Sherlock glared.

"Sorry, continue."

"He said that Lestrade has been naggng him about having dinner with the two of us."

"Why?" asked John.

"Haven't the faintest," Sherlock said. "But since you want to have a date and Lestrade wants to go to dinner, I figured I could make both happen. We're leaving in an hour."

Well, a double date wasn't exactly what John meant, but it was better than no date at all. "Alright, fine," John said. "Oh, and I just met a witch."

Sherlock turned back to the window. "Did you?" he asked in a bored voice.

"Yes I did. It sounds stupid, but she was the real deal. She proved it."

"Oh yes, I'm sure," Sherlock said dryly.

"I mean it," John said. "I bought this—"

Sherlock turned. "You actually wasted money on trickery that you could learn to do online?"

"Sherlock, I mean it, it's—"

"I believe that she was an impressive magician, but I don't believe your judgment," said Sherlock.

"What, do you think I'm stupid?" asked John.

"Do I have to answer that?"

John scowled at him. "You're a prat."

"Don't be insulted, John, I just don't have time for idiocy at the moment."

"_Don't be insulted_," John muttered. "You can just go on a date with yourself then."

Sherlock turned. "_John_."

"Yeah, I'll still go," he murmured, going up to his room before Sherlock could say anything. What John was thinking even wanting a public relationship with Sherlock, he couldn't figure out. But he still thought about what he was going to wear more carefully than he would on the average day, and he was still a little excited about it without meaning to be.

And when he was finished getting ready, he slipped the two little bottles into his pocket.

And then one more bottle: lube.

You know, just in case.


	3. Getting Revenge

When John came down the stairs a while later to leave, Sherlock was waiting by the door.

"You're not still cross, are you?" he asked in a bored voice.

Honestly, he was just a little, but inexplicably, he said, "No."

Sherlock looked unconvinced, but said nothing as he turned and went out the door and down the steps. They caught a cab and arrived at a very posh place that was definitely Mycroft's idea, because it certainly wasn't Greg's style.

John wasn't totally dreading lunch with the two of them, actually. He liked Greg a lot, and Mycroft was much more tolerable now that he'd gone and fallen in love. Still a little creepy and a lot overdramatic, but John was used to both of those traits in Sherlock anyhow.

"It's been a while, mate!" said Greg when Sherlock and John walked in the door. They hugged for a moment and John and Mycroft shook hands. Sherlock just nodded to Greg and glared at his brother. John sighed.

"Could you _try_ to be civil?" John asked exhaustedly. "This was your idea."

"Technically, this was yours and Gale's idea and I just went along with it."

John pursed his lips and inhaled in irritation.

"It's Greg, Sherlock," said Greg.

"What's Greg?" asked Sherlock, looking around as if he might see a man named Greg. John was starting to feel like he had to be doing this on purpose.

"You're unbelievable," John said before the four of them were seated by a man whose coat probably cost more than one month's rent at 221B.

Mostly, Greg and John talked and the other two listened. Or pretended to listen, either way. John didn't mind, honestly. It was nice to just catch up with Greg, even with their strange significant others being awkwardly silent.

"So," Mycroft said after a very long time of speechlessness on his part, "I've been telling _dear_ brother about Gregory's desire to go out for dinner for months and he's never done a thing about it. And now, suddenly, he responded. What, exactly, has changed?"

"I have a better question," Sherlock said before John could speak, turning to Greg. "Why did you even _want_ to have dinner with us?"

"Because I thought maybe you'd admit that you're secretly together," Greg replied, no shame at all in his voice.

Again, John couldn't get in a word before Sherlock said, "Did you? And what makes you think that?"

"Because it's obvious?" asked Greg with a half-smile. "I'm not actually an idiot."

"Apparently you are, if that's what you think," Sherlock said.

John looked over to Sherlock. The whole reason he wanted to go on this 'date' at all was so that they could publically be together. It was utterly fucking ridiculous.

After a moment of silence, John said, "I need the loo."

He got up before anyone could say anything, or even look at him funny so he might deck them.

He had the room to himself, thankfully, so he looked in the mirror at his own angry face. Sherlock was really an idiot, considering him being a genius.

Something crossed John's mind. What Mama Isadora said about the invisibility potion.

_I suspect it'll be funny for you, and will knock some sense into Sherlock._

The idea came to John in a second. Oh, yes, this was it. Perfect.

John took out the brown potion and drank a little, the way he saw Mama Isadora do it. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he vanished, and he laughed. This was so perfectly stupid. Like a prank a teenager would play.

Well, Sherlock was being a child himself, so he deserved it.

Just then, someone walked into the room. He didn't give John a glance.

"Hello," said John experimentally.

The man looked around in confusion, not once actually looking straight at John. He looked over to the stalls. John laughed, and the man kept looking around, a little fear in his eyes.

It definitely worked then.

John composed himself and went out the door.

This was going to be hilarious, he already knew.

And if this wouldn't knock some sense into Sherlock about romance in public, he didn't know what would.

* * *

"That was a bit not good," Lestrade told Sherlock, mimicking something he'd obviously seen between John and Sherlock before. Which didn't make Sherlock feel any fonder towards him in that moment.

"Why don't you do us all a favour and be quiet?" Sherlock snapped.

"Brother," Mycroft said, just barely sounding patient, "That's uncalled for."

Sherlock pursed his lips at his brother. "What, you're defending him?"

"Of course I am," Mycroft said with an eyebrow up. "Gregory is my partner."

Partner. It sounded almost as stupid as boyfriend to Sherlock. Which was part of the reason he didn't like the idea of an official relationship with John. All the names for such a union were idiotic. Mate. Lover. Significant other. All inane.

Why did what he had with John need to have a label? And why did anyone need to know about it? Sherlock's weakness in falling for John didn't need to be publicised, in Sherlock's opinion. He felt it, that didn't mean everyone needed to _know_ it. Befriending him was bad enough. Now this? No, it was too embarrassing. Nobody would take him seriously.

Not that he would tell John that was the reason. John would be furious, he already knew. 'You said you weren't ashamed of me! Obviously this means you are!' is what he would say. It wasn't that he was ashamed of John; it was that he was ashamed of his _feelings_ for John. Completely different.

Which reminded him, John had been gone longer than was usual for a trip to the toilet. He wasn't having more water than usual, and he wasn't due for a bowel movement, so what was he doing?

Mycroft also noticed. "I think you've angered John."

"He'll be fine."

"You _could_ go talk to him," Lestrade suggested dryly, already knowing Sherlock would refuse. Because Lestrade already knew, Sherlock didn't bother to answer.

But then, quite out of nowhere, he felt the feather-light touch of a tongue running against his ear.

Oh, Sherlock had many a time cursed that during sexual endeavours, he was actually quite vocal, but not so much as he had in that moment, because a gasp that sounded alarmingly like a whine came out of his lips. It was quiet, but Mycroft heard. His eyebrow flicked up, and Sherlock just glared. Mycroft just rolled his eyes and turned to Lestrade, saying something. He took that moment to look around. He knew that tongue quite well, and he knew it was John's… but John wasn't here. Mycroft hadn't seen him. What on earth…

He didn't have long to consider it. In that moment when both men were occupied, a voice that was unmistakably John's spoke into his ear. "Do you have time for my 'idiocy' _now_?" he asked, his tone cold and sardonic.

Sherlock worked through it. John said he bought something from a magic shop and that it actually worked. Sherlock didn't believe it… and now John was here, but nowhere to be seen. Well, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

John found some sort of magic that actually worked and made him invisible.

And he was going to use it to get back at Sherlock for being, as John would say, 'a tit'.

He barely moved his lips as he said, "I don't suppose apologising would make you stop this before it starts."

"Oh, not a chance," John breathed in a way that gave Sherlock goose bumps.

Sherlock clearly felt John's hand as it settled firmly on his hip, and then slowly slid around to the front of his trousers, brushing against his until very recently flaccid penis. It was already responding to the sound of John's voice, to the few touches he'd already administered.

Sherlock bit his tongue to keep from reacting, but to his immense misfortune, the two turned to him, as if wanting to add him to the conversation. Sherlock couldn't hear what they were saying, though, because he found himself well and truly terrified by what he could tell John was doing.

He was crawling carefully under the table, spreading his legs apart to kneel between them.

"Oh, please, don't," Sherlock almost silently pleaded. But this time the other two were paying attention, so they heard.

"Don't tell you to apologise to John?" Lestrade asked as Sherlock's button and zip in his trousers were being undone. "You were being an arse."

"How was I being an—an arse?" he asked, the stammer caused by a strong hand seizing his erection to pull it out of his pants.

Mycroft gave another confused twitch of his eyebrow, but Lestrade, ever unobservant as he was, didn't notice.

"If I were John, I'd be cross too," said Lestrade. "Just admit it."

"Admit w-w-" He shut his eyes and was unable to speak for a moment when John's mouth closed around him. This wasn't happening. If Sherlock ever had nightmares, he'd be convinced this was one. "Admit what?" said Sherlock firmly, reaching his hand under the table to painfully grab John's scalp, but that only made him chuckle silently around him, and the vibrations made him just barely shudder.

"Erm… Sherlock, you alright?" asked Lestrade.

Sherlock had to think fast to explain that one. Good thing thinking fast was his forte. Sherlock rubbed under his nose. "Do you ever get that feeling that you have to sneeze, but it doesn't happen?"

Mycroft looked unconvinced, but Lestrade laughed a little. "Yeah, hate that. Anyway," he added more seriously, "Sherlock, everyone knows about you and John."

Sherlock wanted to say something, but John was doing something absolutely exquisite with his tongue and the only way to keep from reacting was to refrain from speaking and just glare at Lestrade.

Lestrade continued when he realised Sherlock wasn't going to speak. "What've you got against telling people, anyway? Nobody cares, Sherlock. It doesn't make you less clever or less credible."

It was amazingly observant of Lestrade to realise that was Sherlock's whole argument against it.

"In fact," Lestrade said, "People like you more with John around, you know that. You get more business than ever. The only one who thinks you have to be stoic to be successful is you."

"Even I have decided I was incorrect on that point," Mycroft added.

John was moving faster, and Sherlock knew his breathing had increased. His effort to keep from reacting was making a thin sheen of sweat appear on his brow. He was grabbing John's hair now not in warning that he needed to stop, but just in the need to grip something. If anything, the fact that he could be caught at any moment was making it more pleasurable.

He apparently had an exhibitionist streak that he'd never noticed. Maybe that was why he never liked to lock the door when he and John fucked on the couch, fast and hard with John's hands bruising his sides, grunting Sherlock's own name to the air like a prayer—

_No, Sherlock_, he chided himself, _don't start thinking about that. It'll only make it worse._

Sherlock officially had to say something. "Y-Yes maybe you're right about that. I should probably see if… if _Joohhn_'s… okay."

Now they were both looking at him like he was utterly mad, but he couldn't stand sitting here any longer. As he spoke, he shoved John's face away, not caring anymore if his body knocked into Mycroft, and shoved himself back into his pants, zipping his trousers and standing. He walked angrily towards the toilet, and halfway there, John took his hand. Sherlock went inside and was only slightly disappointed when John shut and locked the door. Before Sherlock could speak, John was visible again with a bottle to his lips. John was smiling.

"I know you're probably angry, but that was—" John was able to say before Sherlock surged forward, slamming John against the wall and kissing him hard. He was already gripping at his jeans, shoving them down his thighs.

"I need you to fuck me. _Now_," said Sherlock.

John obviously enjoyed Sherlock's punishment as much as Sherlock had, because his pupils were completely dilated and he was fully hard.

"One condition," John said.

Sherlock groaned. "No, _now_, John!" he complained like a child.

"You're going to tell the two of them we're together."

Fine, fine, whatever had to be done to get John inside him right this instant. "Fine, they can know, but can't you do it?" Sherlock asked distastefully.

"If I do it, I'm going to tell them we just fucked in the loo."

Sherlock glared, but he _needed_ John, so he said, "Okay, fine." He walked over to the counter and leaned over it. "Just fuck me."

John grinned evilly and walked over, yanking down Sherlock's trousers brutishly, not bothering with the button this time.

Sherlock was only barely surprised when John had lubricant with him. Probably he'd, to a point, planned all this. Sherlock wouldn't have cared if he hadn't had it at this point. A few day's pain would've been worth it. They weren't even using a condom—which was dangerous, because of sexually transmitted diseases, but Sherlock couldn't bring himself to care, not right now.

John didn't prepare him for more than ten seconds before he just pushed inside. Sherlock bit his knuckle to stay silent.

"You're good at being quiet," John grunted as he thrust with agonising slowness. "I was impressed."

"Faster," Sherlock commanded.

"I'm still cross with you. I don't know if you deserve it."

Sherlock whined. "_Please_, John."

John always liked please, so Sherlock was prepared when, a moment later, the onslaught became merciless, definitely somewhere in the gray area between pain and pleasure. It was perfect.

They both finished quickly with this pace, and with the urgency of being in a public place. Then they had to clean up Sherlock's mess from the floor.

John laughed when he got a good look at Sherlock.

"You look so well-fucked right now."

Sherlock glared.

John came forward and grinded his crotch against Sherlock's. "Hey, I like it," he said. "You ready to be public?"

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, I suppose so."

John smiled. "It's nice to win for once."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes, but really, it's not like he'd lost because John had won. Sherlock had John, which was the best thing he could think of. Privately, he thought this was a pretty good deal. He'd never say so out loud, but the one last glance John gave Sherlock as they walked out of the toilet showed John he didn't need to say anything. John already knew. He always knew.

So as they walked to the table, he took John's hand, and John grinned with literal joy in his eyes at the public display of affection.

Yes, Sherlock definitely hadn't lost a thing in this deal.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review!**


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